Gunner. Just thinking of him made her pulse skip. The man was nothing like the guys she was used to. He was dangerous in a way that excited her, confident without arrogance, and damn if he wasn’t the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on.
Sighing, she finally settled on a simple but flattering black dress, one that hugged her in all the right places but wasn’t over the top. She paired it with ankle boots, added a hint of makeup, and ran a hand through her dark waves, deciding to let them fall naturally. Dawn wasn’t the kind of woman to fuss over every detail, but tonight felt different. Special.
A knock at the door sent a flutter of nerves through her stomach. She took a deep breath, smoothed her dress, and opened it to find Gunner leaning casually against the doorframe.
Gunner looked devastatingly good in dark jeans, a fitted henley, and a leather jacket. His intense gaze traveled over her slowly, like he was committing her to memory.
“Damn,” he murmured, smirking at her. “You’re a sight.”
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “You clean up pretty well yourself,” she pointed out.
He chuckled, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. “Ready to go?”
She nodded, grabbing her purse and stepping out, locking the door behind her. He led her to his bike, the powerful machine gleaming under the streetlights.
“You ever been on one of these?” he asked, handing her a helmet.
“Once or twice,” she admitted, securing it in place.
“Well, hold on tight, honey.”
She swallowed as she climbed on behind him, her hands hesitating before resting lightly on his sides. The moment he revved the engine and took off, she instinctively tightened her grip around his waist.
His solid warmth, the way his muscles tensed beneath her fingers, made her heartbeat accelerate for reasons that had nothing to do with the speed.
They rode through the city, the wind cool against her skin, the lights blurring past. There was something intoxicating about the way he moved with the bike, like he was in perfect sync with the machine.
By the time they pulled up to a cozy little restaurant tucked away from the busy streets, her nerves had settled into excitement.
Gunner helped her off the bike, his hands lingering at her waist as she steadied herself. The way he looked at her—like she was something to be savored—made her stomach tighten.
The restaurant was warm and inviting, candlelit with rustic decor. He led her to a table in the corner, giving them some privacy. The moment they sat, she realized how easily the conversation flowed between them.
Gunner wasn’t just good at looking dangerous, he was observant, funny in a dry way, and had a way of making her feel like she was the only person in the room.
They talked about everything—her job at the diner, his life in the club, the places they’d been, the things they wanted. She found herself lowering her guard, telling him things she didn’t normally share with men. Gunner listened, really listened, and when he spoke, his words carried weight.
At one point, she reached for her drink at the same time he did, their fingers brushing. A current of awareness shot through her, and when she glanced up, his gaze had darkened.
“You do that on purpose?” he asked, voice roughened.
Her breath hitched. “Do what?”
“Make it damn near impossible not to touch you.”
The air between them charged, heavy with unspoken tension. She could feel the heat of him, the way his fingers flexed as if he was restraining himself. She wanted to test him, to see what would happen if she leaned just a little closer. But the waitress arrived with their food, breaking the moment. Dawn exhaled a shaky breath, forcing herself to focus.
They ate, but the energy between them remained, simmering beneath the surface. Every glance, every brush of his fingers against hers when he passed her something, sent little sparks through her.
When dinner ended, Gunner paid without hesitation, waving off her protests. “You can get the next one,” he said, a promise in his voice.
They stepped outside, and the cool night air did little to calm her racing pulse. He turned to her, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch featherlight.
“I had a good time tonight,” he murmured.
“Me too,” she admitted.
He dropped his gaze to her lips, and her breath caught. Gunner was giving her a choice, letting her decide if she wanted to close the distance. And God, did she want to.
